


On Watch

by Sineala



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Community: kink_bingo, First Time, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While making the rounds of the fort, Alexios accidentally stumbles across Hilarion in an intimate situation. And again. And then again. One might almost think it was more than just a coincidence. But that can't be true, can it? (Or: a story in which there are freckles and strigils, Alexios is exceedingly oblivious, and Hilarion flirts in wildly shameless ways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Watch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kink Bingo 2012, the "voyeurism" square. Thanks to Carmarthen and Osprey_Archer for cheerleading and titling help.
> 
> [Note: the voyeurism itself is dubiously consensual.]

The first time it happened, Alexios was certain it was an accident.

Being so new to the Wolves and to the Ordo, Alexios had been determined to make his daily rounds with a certain amount of conscientiousness, both to impress his authority upon the men and to learn the particular layout of the fort. And with a fort like Castellum, he quickly discovered, the second point was particularly needed. It was not that the overall plan was different—for Rome was Rome, and she built them the same the world over—but the fort had been manned for so long with a complement of men less than half of what it had been made to hold, and so the buildings had not quite reshaped themselves around those who remained. Alexios was forever turning corners and finding abandoned storerooms, empty barracks, corridors that ought to be full of life instead gone dim and dusty. Once they would have been fully outfitted, he knew, in those long-ago days when the forts north of the wall were all occupied, every last one, and there had been the second wall too. It made him feel oddly alone, here in the wilds with only his double-century.

Tonight he was discovering that the same disuse applied to the rest of the officers' quarters, as he paced down the torch-lit halls. His own rooms, a corridor away, were not with the rest of the men, and so this was new territory. Once Castellum would have had far more officers than this, but in this matter it was not entirely bad; their loss meant the gain of space. Each man had his own room, and in some cases two—save Druim, who preferred to stay with the rest of the Arcani. There was enough space, in fact, that they were spread out all down the corridor. Here Anthonius the medic had claimed the room next to his own as well, Alexios saw, filling it with supplies, that he might have them quick to hand for any ill or wounded men. Here was Kaeso's room, and this larger one must be Lucius', empty now because he had taken the first watch, out on the walls with the gate-guards. 

Another empty, darkened room—Alexios peered into it and saw the shapes of armor and arms—separated Lucius' quarters from the largest room on the end, the one Hilarion had taken for his own. He tried to tread as softly as he could past that room, for Hilarion had retired to his bed earlier in the evening, and Alexios did not wish to rouse him unless there was need.

As he passed by the door-curtain, he heard a low, soft noise within Hilarion's quarters, a kind of groan. The noise caught his attention instantly. Was his senior centenarius unwell? Was he dreaming of ill things? If it had been Alexios, he knew he would have appreciated being woken from the nightmare, or being checked up on, whether or not he could bring himself to admit that he liked such care. But he did not know yet if Hilarion was the sort of man who would mind it.

Hilarion groaned again, more loudly this time.

Alexios was reaching for the fabric of the door-curtain, his fingers extended, when he noticed all at once that there were other sounds coming from the room, familiar ones indeed. There was the ever so quiet, rhythmic creaking of wood, how all these beds sounded when you so much as shifted your weight upon them, and under that noise an even softer sound, flesh moving against flesh.

There came another groan, and he realized that he knew exactly what Hilarion was doing.

Oh.

In that case, Alexios definitely should not interrupt him; it was a very good thing he had not just pulled the curtain open and walked in, indeed. And he certainly did not begrudge the man his pleasure, though it was a little sad that Hilarion had only himself for it; did none of the women in the garrison-town strike his fancy? Well, perhaps he wished to save his money. 

At least he had privacy for it, Alexios thought, remembering all those times in the legions when they had been sleeping eight to a barracks-room and there he had been, trying to get a hand on his cock, under the blankets, while listening, terrified, to try to tell if the breathing of the man next to him was lightening into wakefulness, every time he let out so much as a gasp while stroking himself and—

Why was he still here?

Hilarion moaned once more, and shame rose up around Alexios, a sudden awful heat, and the worst guilt washed over him. He could hardly see the walls, the floor, anything at all.

Why in the world was he still standing outside Hilarion's quarters, while Hilarion—

He turned and fled down the hall.

* * *

"Morning, sir," came Hilarion's cheerful voice as Alexios stepped into the officers' mess without really looking around him.

He startled, more badly than he really should have, and he fumbled at the wall behind him for support. Of course Hilarion would be here. He needed breakfast, as everyone did. And—Alexios glanced around the room—everyone else had gotten here before him. For some reason he had slept poorly, and overslept as a consequence.

"Good morning," responded Alexios, and he hoped his voice was not shaking.

Hilarion tilted his head and grinned. "Why, sir," he said, his tone even lighter, his pale eyes sparkling bright, "have you found a liking for that space on the wall as well? It is one of my favorites." 

Today Hilarion had not draped himself against the wall to eat breakfast, but instead he had claimed the entirety of one of the long benches on the far side. He had both his legs stretched out on the bench, a clay mug in one hand and a torn piece of bread in the other, and he had reached up to brace his elbow on the edge of the window as he ate. It couldn't be comfortable, Alexios thought, but surely he wouldn't do it if it weren't. Hilarion was so long and lanky, but there was a strange sort of grace to him, as if he simply, perfectly _belonged_ everywhere he put himself.

Kaeso looked up from the table and snorted in derision. "Don't you mind him, sir." He held out a larger piece of bread. "Here, we saved you some."

He came back to himself, then, and he realized he was still holding onto the damned doorway. Hastily he let go and took the bread. "Thank you. That was very kind of you."

"We are not all ill-mannered in the Frontier Wolves, no matter what you have heard, sir." That was Lucius.

"Speak for yourself." Hilarion was talking around a mouthful of bread, and as Alexios watched, he was trying to wash it down with water and talk at the same time. "I am—" his throat worked as he swallowed— "I am the worst of liars and cheats," he added, with a wide grin that made Alexios' heart pound alarmingly. "Or perhaps the best of them."

"Only when he's dicing!" Druim called out, and the room dissolved into laughter.

Hilarion had set the drinking-cup down, and his left hand curled loosely around it, two pale long fingers lying just so.

Alexios remembered all at once what he had heard last night, and he felt his face grow hot. Had it been that very hand Hilarion had been using? If Hilarion had been Greek or Roman, certainly it would have been. But Hilarion, despite his name, looked to have the blood of the tribes in him, and perhaps it did not matter to them that they should keep their right hands clean of it. He had never known a tribesman well enough that he could dare ask such a thing—

Why was he still thinking of this? It had been a coincidence, an awful coincidence, and nothing more. Surely Hilarion had not known he was there. The kindest thing to do would be to forget about it.

He would forget, he told himself. He could forget. He simply had to think no more about it.

Alexios took the seat that was offered him, and then the cup of posca, but he could not stop watching Hilarion's hands, the way he gestured as he talked, so eloquently, surely the same way his hands would have been on himself. He could picture it, he thought, all the things he had not seen, the things he had heard. _I know what you sound like_ , he thought, and he shivered.

"Cold, sir?" Lucius asked, next to him, the model of solicitousness.

Alexios shook his head. "Not at all. Perfectly fine."

He was fine. He was.

* * *

Slowly the memory of that night began to recede, the embarrassment fading, since nothing happened the next night, or the night after that one. When Alexios walked down the corridors, all was quiet; he heard only the slightest sounds of breathing in the dark, and even snoring from Kaeso's quarters. It began to seem funny after the second day, the way that an amusingly unfortunate thing does after there is a certain distance between oneself and the event. It was almost as if it hadn't happened at all.

So it was that Alexios was once again walking past Hilarion's quarters, well into the first watch of the night, now confident of his way. He had just this corridor left, and—

Within the room, Hilarion moaned. It was a low, throaty sound, and if anything he was louder than he had been the previous time. Alexios stopped, very still, and he didn't dare breathe, or move, or do anything that would alert Hilarion to his presence. He was at it again? How was he at it again? And whyever did he need to be so loud? This could not be happening. This could not possibly be happening again.

"Mmm," came Hilarion's voice, an inarticulate groan of pleasure. There was the sound of sliding fabric, wool, leather, pushing clothes out of the way, and then the quick, slick noise of, oh, that was Hilarion touching himself, ah gods, Hilarion with those long fingers wrapped about his cock—

Agonized, Alexios hissed in frustration, and it was then that he realized he himself was aroused, the warmth settling low in his belly, sparking fire down his nerves. No. He couldn't be. This was not a thing that could happen. He was disgraced already; he was not about to compound it by lusting after his senior centenarius—his _centenarius_ , by Pollux!—no matter how enticing the man might be physically.

Hilarion moaned again and Alexios' cock twitched at the sound, his body entirely uncaring as to the demands of his mind. It was awful. It was wonderful. It didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. It was only a response, a simple physical response. It was like calling to like. That was all it was, and all it would be.

Gritting his teeth, Alexios made his way down the corridor as silently as he could, and then outside, to the fort walls where the cold night wind whipped past him, cooling everything unwanted. He did not dare step inside again until he was shivering from the chill of it.

* * *

It was not a problem, he tried to tell himself, the next day, as he stood watching the centenarii herd the Frontier Wolves into a sort of order, getting them to pick up the heavy practice-swords and shields. It could not be a problem. Of course Hilarion had every right to... enjoy himself... in his own quarters, on his own time. And the other officers were clearly not shy about telling Hilarion when he had overstepped himself in word or deed, so surely if he had been inconveniencing anyone else, they would have said long ago. They must not be able to hear him down the hall. No, no, Alexios must be the only one for whom it was an issue of any sort, and it was only an issue for him because he kept being in the way of it, where he ought not to be. The next time—if it ever happened again—he would simply walk by, he would ignore it, he would continue with his rounds in an ordinary manner. Yes. That was how it would be.

"They are good, our Wolves, eh?" Lucius asked. Having gotten his men to begin fighting-drills, he had retreated to stand next to Alexios.

Alexios nodded as he watched the men thrust, evade, step, thrust, parry. They carried the heavier wooden practice gear with such ease that one might think it was their natural weapon. "They are the equal of any I have seen in the legions."

Lucius looked over at him and nodded, a satisfied nod, and then shaded his eyes to peer across the parade-ground at Hilarion's century. Alexios followed his gaze. Only some of Hilarion's men had begun fighting, and Hilarion himself was hefting a sword and shield, testing the feel of them, before turning to the man next to him.

"He'll regret that later." Lucius gave an exaggerated wince. "That's Bericus, there, standing next to him. The big one."

Hilarion's yell floated across the parade-ground. "Come on, man, swing at me!"

Bericus, Alexios saw, was taller than Hilarion, and given Hilarion's height that was saying something. Furthermore, he had all the weight for his size that Hilarion did not, and so calling him two of Hilarion might even be understating the matter.

"Does Hilarion regret anything later, though?" Alexios murmured.

Lucius chuckled and seemed to have to think about it before he spoke. "Not in my experience, sir. Oh, look, there he goes."

Bericus stabbed forward, a hard blow, which Hilarion blocked; it was a solid block, but the strike of the sword on the shield was so heavy that Alexios could hear it even at this distance. Hilarion shook it off, then, and... threw his shield down? All at once, so fast Alexios had not seen him move, he had the practice-sword at Bericus' throat. Bericus was grinning, broadly—and then Hilarion was over his shoulder and on the ground.

As Hilarion picked himself up, he was smiling, he was smiling and coming toward Alexios—

Alexios shook his head to clear it.

"Well-fought," Hilarion was calling behind him. "The rest of you, keep fighting!" Then, to Alexios, when he was closer to the two of them: "Can I interest you in a bout, sir?"

"No, thank you," said Alexios, quickly. "I'd rather observe, for the time being."

It occurred to him, then, what he had said, and what else it could apply to; he had meant it perfectly innocently, but all at once he remembered what he had done, what he had been observing, and Hilarion didn't _know_ —

But Hilarion only smiled again at him. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

He was prepared for it this time, Alexios told himself that night, as the end of his rounds once again carried him through the officers' corridor. It was only a few feet. It was nothing. All he had to do was walk past Hilarion's quarters, no matter what noises the man was making, and then go on with his life. It would be simple. He could do it. And perhaps even tonight Hilarion might be asleep, and he would be spared this shameful trial.

As he proceeded further down the hallway, Alexios discovered that this was most certainly not the case. Hilarion groaned—and how in the world could no one else hear him? Alexios could hear him from here!—far more loudly than he had before. Had Alexios not known that Hilarion was alone in there, he would have had a difficult time believing it, for Hilarion was making enough noise for several people. 

From the amount of noise, he had already been at it for quite a while this evening. The wooden bed was creaking at a rapid rhythm; Alexios wondered exactly what Hilarion could be doing to himself to be that noisy, and then immediately he wished he hadn't wondered it, for he had no trouble picturing an answer with great vividness. Hilarion might, say, have worked a long finger or two inside himself, and even now be sliding down onto his hand, fucking and being fucked all at once.

There was no point trying to fight it now, Alexios thought, in a haze of lust, as he stumbled to a halt, bracing himself on the wall with a hand. He had already fallen so far from his ideals. He was— he was here listening to his centenarius, and, oh, he was so aroused already, if only— no— he had to move on. He had to walk past. He could not be doing this.

Past the too-thin curtain, Hilarion moaned once more, a drawn-out cry, and the soft whisper of flesh was faster now, ever faster. Alexios brought his own hand to his mouth and bit down, hard, that he might not make a noise in reply. Then Hilarion gave an indrawn breath, a surprised-sounding gasp, astonishingly quiet amidst the rest of the sounds he had been making, and— there was nothing more. The room was silent.

He'd just— ah, Hilarion had— and Alexios had _heard_ it all, ah, gods, he'd stood here and listened while Hilarion had made himself spend, and this was what he sounded like— and Alexios had _liked_ it—

Alexios was tripping down the corridor. He must look a fright, he knew. He did not care. He only needed to get back to his own rooms before he met anyone, before he disgraced himself further. He couldn't hold out against this. He couldn't.

He ran the last few steps to his quarters and drew the curtain with a shaking hand, as fast as he could; his other hand was already fumbling at the ties of his breeches, drawing out his cock, achingly hard. It wouldn't take long now, not long at all. The first touch made him shiver. Did Hilarion feel this way, when he touched himself? How would it feel, to touch Hilarion, to coax out of him those very same sounds he had been making so freely? How would Hilarion sound, moaning Alexios' name? His cock twitched again in his hand and he could not help groaning at the thought. What if— what if Hilarion were to touch him? Alexios glanced down to where his cock, heavy and slick, was sliding through his fist. In this dimness he could almost imagine it was Hilarion's hand— ah, yes—

Trembling, Alexios spent himself, making a ruin of his hand, tunic, and breeches, then dizzily he sank down onto his bed, as his legs gave out under him.

He could not do this. He could not. He was surely the worst commander to walk the earth now. The first time had been an accident. Perhaps even the second. But there was a line—not perhaps as clear as the ferryman's river or even the Divine Julius' Rubicon, but a line nonetheless. The gods cared not for a man's thoughts, but for his deeds. More to the point, so did his superiors. And this had been so grotesquely inappropriate that there were hardly words for it. That he should command a company of men already guilty of petty infractions, and then visit upon one of them his own violation of military discipline—it could not be done. And here he was, desiring to force himself upon his subordinate like the most lecherous of men! It was certain that Hilarion did not want him, and even if he did—

He must simply stay away from the man, off-duty. He must keep to a strictly professional relationship, to avoid any further temptation. Yes. That was the only possible answer.

* * *

Kaeso collected the last of his tablets and stood, but he did not move immediately to leave the sacellum; he squinted off into the distance with the air of a man trying to remember a just-forgotten thing.

"Was there some other matter I ought to address?" Alexios was proud of how normal his voice sounded.

Kaeso started to shake his head, but then brightened. "No— yes. Yes."

"Which is it?"

"Yes, but not with me, sir." Kaeso tucked a tablet under his arm. "The senior centenarius said he wished to see you, when I caught sight of him just now. He did not say what he wanted."

Hilarion. Alexios' hands were shaking, and quickly he grabbed the one with the other, hoping Kaeso hadn't noticed. "Very well. Where might I find him?"

Kaeso squinted again in thought. "Bath-house, sir. He came in as I was leaving." Indeed, Kaeso's hair was not quite dry yet. "He's probably still there."

"Thank you," Alexios said, in a manner that he hoped was brisk and professional, rising from his chair. "I will just go see him."

Perfectly normal. This was a perfectly normal thing to do, and he could do it. He could carry on a conversation with his senior centenarius as if last night he hadn't— he wasn't going to think about that. Besides, it was only the bath-house; it was always full of men, relaxing, talking among themselves. He could handle such a situation. It was not as if he had to face Hilarion alone.

It was when Alexios was in the little apodyterium of the baths, tunic off, working on his breeches, that he started to get a feeling, in the back of his mind and rapidly edging toward the forefront, that perhaps something about this was abnormal after all. The baths seemed unusually quiet. There was none of the usual chatter audible from here, and there were always, always people in the baths. It was strange. Perhaps they were relaxing quietly, Alexios told himself. Perhaps Hilarion had already left. Well, at any rate, Alexios could use a bath, so he might as well have one now and then go find his centenarius.

"Hilarion," he called out, as he hung his breeches on one of the pegs, "are you still in there?"

Hilarion's voice echoed back. "Still here, sir. Come in!"

He stepped into the bath, already beginning to feel relaxed as the heat of the floor rose into his feet. "What did you want to talk to me ab—"

And then he saw Hilarion and stopped dead.

Hilarion was here. More precisely, _only_ Hilarion was here. And he was, of course, entirely nude. He was standing on the far side of the room with a leg up on one of the benches, holding a strigil and an oil-pot, whose contents he proceeded to pour on his shoulders. Alexios' mouth went dry as he watched the oil flow down, down Hilarion's pale back, over the slight curve of his buttocks, down his long, muscled thighs, only to split into little rivulets at his calves and pool on the floor beneath. He was not going to stare. He was not.

Name of Light, Hilarion had freckles all the way down.

Alexios opened his mouth and could not think of a single thing to say that was not _I want to touch you_.

"I see you wanted a bath as well," said Hilarion, cheerfully, glancing back over his shoulder and beginning to run the strigil down to his hand. The curve of it fit perfectly around his arm.

Alexios looked wildly at the walls, the floor, the door to the next room—everywhere but at Hilarion. But soon enough, Hilarion was going to notice that. He cleared his throat and dragged his gaze back to Hilarion's face. His face. Yes. "It appears no one else wanted one, though. Strange."

Hilarion shrugged and began scraping one of his legs. "Lucius has both centuries in hand for the moment; I swapped with him so we could both get a decent bath in. I'm sure he's keeping the men busy." The movement of the metal across his oiled skin was slow and fascinating; Alexios felt a warmth growing within him that he knew was not the temperature.

Walking across the room to where Hilarion stood, Alexios reached for an oil-pot of his own, and he put his head down to focus on pouring the oil, then scraping his skin clean. He did not dare look up at Hilarion, so close to him. He could not. And yet he could hear him, breathing loudly in the heat, almost the way he had breathed last night—

"So," began Alexios, struggling to recall his purpose, "you had wanted to talk to me?"

He thought that Hilarion might have shrugged again; there was a little flicker of motion at the edge of his vision. "It was nothing that urgent, sir," he said. "It was only that both of the optiones have put in for leave at once, and I wanted to know whether you had rather grant Garwin's or Cullen's first, since you ought to take one of them with you when you go out with the Arcani next week. Garwin being mine, he asked me to favor him with leave, but I found out from Lucius this morning about Cullen. So now it is the commander's puzzle."

Honestly, he did not know either man well. "Which do you think?"

He let Hilarion talk on about the relative merits of the two men, listening to the pleasant rise and fall of Hilarion's voice as he scraped the last of the oil off his chest. It was only when Hilarion had stopped that he realized he had no idea at all what the man had been saying.

"Shall we grant Garwin's leave first, then?" he ventured.

He looked up, damn it all, and saw Hilarion smile, bright and dazzling and wonderful. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn that for just an instant Hilarion had looked at him from under his eyelashes, a flirtatious look, but he couldn't have. Even Hilarion would not have done that as a joke, not like this.

"Knew you liked me better, sir," Hilarion said with a laugh, and there were even more freckles on his shoulders than his face; how could that be so attractive? Alexios knew not, but already he was hating himself for it.

Alexios coughed, feeling that he ought to chastise Hilarion for that if nothing else. "Centenarius—"

All at once Hilarion turned away from him, away and yet closer, presenting Alexios with the long bony line of his spine, still beaded with oil and sweat, and— and— more southerly places he was certainly not going to admire.

"Scrape my back for me?" drawled Hilarion.

Two conflicting impulses rose in Alexios at once. The first was a dizzying rush of desire, accompanied by the observation that Hilarion was naked and covered in oil and _asking him to touch him_. Alexios inhaled sharply and was very glad Hilarion could not see his face. Or certain other parts of him. The second and much more sensible reaction arose after he had fully contemplated Hilarion's words.

"Senior Centenarius," said Alexios, as icily as possible, "you did not just ask your superior officer to scrape your back."

"Did I not?" came Hilarion's bright voice. "I was almost certain I said that, but I suppose I could be wrong."

How was the man so infuriating? wondered Alexios, gritting his teeth. And how was it even possible that Alexios liked him anyway?

He tried again. "I know that this is not a fine bath-house of Rome herself with slaves to anoint you, but that does not mean that in their absence you should make do with your ducenarius."

He could see Hilarion's ribs move as he gave an exaggerated sigh, and he was about to turn away when Hilarion spoke again. 

"I'd do it for you, sir." There was a low, coaxing note to Hilarion's voice, almost a sort of tease, and, oh, he wanted Hilarion to sound like that again.

He had the strigil on Hilarion's back before he could think about it, and Hilarion sighed, lighter this time, and pushed back against the pressure of it.

"There," Alexios said, appalled at how rough and curt his voice was. Hilarion would surely think he hated him for it. But he should not care how Hilarion felt, he should not.

Hilarion only hummed quietly to himself. "Thank you, sir," he said. "Can't reach the middle of my back myself very well, you see." 

Was he really making Hilarion happy? He was, wasn't he? Oh, no. He should not like this. He should not have been doing this. This was a dangerous thing to start. The only thing that could save him was his sense of duty. He was Hilarion's commander. He had to remember that. They both had to.

After the last of the oil had been scraped away, Alexios put the strigil down and let his voice be infused with all the authority he could possibly summon up. "Is there anything else the senior centenarius would like _his commander_ to do for him? A shave, perhaps? A new haircut? A massage?" Certainly he could be just as sardonic as Hilarion.

But the tone was completely and utterly lost on Hilarion, who turned his head, smiled widely, and said, "Actually, now that you mention it, my neck is awfully sore today."

"What?"

"My shoulder, mostly, I should say. A bit of my neck," added Hilarion, turning back away and lifting a hand to gesture toward the left side of his neck, where it met his shoulder. "If you're offering, it would be lovely."

He sounded... entirely sincere.

Alexios stared, horrified.

He had offered, and he could not very well say that he dreaded touching Hilarion too much to go through with it, could he? Nor could he say that he had offered thinking that Hilarion would never say yes. He had done this to himself, and, like so much else in his life, it was he alone who had to deal with the consequences. And if that meant debasing himself like a slave, so be it.

"Sit down, then." His voice still came out of him quick and tense. "You're a little tall for me."

Obligingly, Hilarion sat.

He was about to ask where it hurt, but the instant he touched Hilarion—Mithras, he was so warm and alive under his hands!—he knew where the problem lay. He could feel a great tense knot of muscle just under the skin, and Hilarion twitched when he poked at it, ever so lightly, with a fingertip. It had to hurt. He was surprised Hilarion could have moved his neck at all.

"Good gods, Hilarion," he said, astonished, "what did you _do_ to yourself?"

As he said it, it occurred to him that he very possibly should not have asked; his mind instantly filled in an inappropriately obscene explanation. Alexios had, after all, heard him last night. Perhaps it had been... strenuous. No, no, he should not even think that. Idiot. 

Hilarion hissed under his breath while Alexios tried to rub at the muscles as gently as he could. "That was all Bericus. You were watching when I was fighting him yesterday."

"You landed wrong?" Alexios frowned and tried to picture the throw. He had not thought Hilarion had fallen on his shoulder, but perhaps he had after all.

"No, before then." Hilarion chuckled, and the laugh turned into another pained hiss as Alexios moved his fingers. "When he stabbed at me."

"You blocked that."

"Ah, but blocking a blow from Bericus is much like taking the same blow from anyone else," said Hilarion, mostly through his teeth. "As I have learned, to my detriment." He turned his head a little. "You can push harder, sir. It will feel better that way."

So he kneaded Hilarion's shoulder with his fingers, harder, still a little slippery with oil, and under his hands Hilarion flexed and gave a little _moan_ , and, ah, gods, it sounded _just like_ the noise Hilarion had made the other night, when— when—

Alexios bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He was not going to think about this.

"Almost," Hilarion breathed, low and urgent, and that voice was going to kill him, it was.

He pushed a little harder and, quite suddenly, Hilarion groaned aloud. It was a long, low noise, but it did not sound at all pained, and Alexios was certain now that he was about to die from sheer desire.

"Ah, yes, Alexios," murmured Hilarion, in a husky, lazy, pleased voice, and O gods, Hilarion had said his _name_ that way, "that's the spot, exactly there. Good hands."

He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

He took a deep, steadying breath and tried to come up with something, anything else to say. "I understand that it was difficult to scrape your own back," he said, hoping that Hilarion would not notice how his fingers were trembling, "but surely you can reach your own neck." He stared helplessly down at his own hands; he could not seem to make himself lift them from Hilarion's neck.

"Oh, of course I can," agreed Hilarion. It was not his usual lazy, mocking tone; there was an indolence to it, certainly, but he sounded strangely content. Sated. "I can do it myself well enough, but it feels so much nicer when someone else does it to you. One of those things, you know."

Alexios knew. Oh, he knew. He was having no trouble at all picturing other, even nicer things that he could do to Hilarion, that they could do to each other. He could slide his hand lower, perhaps, trailing more oil across freckled skin. It would be easy, so easy, and Hilarion would turn and smile at him—

No.

He jerked his hands away. Hilarion noticed that, all right, turning with a look of concern on his face.

He had to leave. This could not be allowed to progress. "I— I—" he stammered. "I had forgotten until right now, I had promised Kaeso I would go over to the store-houses and look at the grain inventories," he lied. "I must leave."

"You don't even want a bath first?" Hilarion asked. His face was twisted and it sounded almost as though he was _hurt_ , which was bizarre, for why should he be hurt by this?

"No, no," said Alexios, quickly, already backing away to the doorway. "I am certain the quartermaster has been expecting me for a while. I would hate to make him wait any longer."

The last thing he saw was Hilarion staring at him still, his eyes dark and unreadable.

* * *

He had been so certain Abusina would be the great disgrace of his career. He seemed to be well on his way to making a new one out of Castellum. This Alexios thought to himself, bleakly, as the trumpets called the beginning of the first watch of the night.

He had seen Hilarion at the officers' mess for dinner, as usual. He could not say whether Hilarion had been behaving strangely, for all he could remember was the awful, pounding anxiety, that he might look at Hilarion too long, or brush up against him when he reached for the wine—that he would do anything that would make someone notice. Especially Hilarion. Even worse, Hilarion must have judged something amiss of some sort, for he had left early, leaving the evening rounds to Lucius alone, so that Alexios had to pick up the slack.

So here he was, wrapped in his regulation-green cloak, pacing the walls.

He met Lucius, wolf-head pulled high, in one of the corners.

"All well?"

"It is well, sir." Lucius nodded. "It's a cold night; you should go in."

"There's still the rest of the corridors to walk. I'll do it," said Alexios, and he shuddered a little at the thought of walking past Hilarion's room once again. Name of Light, just the thought and he was already excited. He shouldn't. He couldn't abide himself.

"No reason it should be the commander's job."

"And there's no reason the junior centenarius should have to do what the senior centenarius was too lazy to do himself," Alexios said, shocked to hear how acidly the words came out of his mouth. He wished he hadn't said it as soon as it had been spoken, for there was no good to be found in saying ill things about one officer to another.

Lucius looked at him with a sort of... concern? "It takes a bit of time to become accustomed to Hilarion, sir, but he's not a lazy man, if you don't mind me saying so." His face was open and earnest. "And he's been a little out of sorts lately."

"Is there something wrong with him?" The thought had not occurred to him before. Perhaps it was an excess of melancholic humor, but Alexios was not certain how any of that would fit with Hilarion's nocturnal activities.

Lucius shook his head. "If there is, he hasn't said."

"I'll check on him, then. You head back to the mess and read your book."

There was a grin at that; likely it was the thing Lucius had wanted to do all along.

As Alexios finished the last of the rounds and walked toward Hilarion's quarters once again, it occurred to him that it would be especially awkward if Hilarion were... busy. But he couldn't be doing it again. Surely even Hilarion needed a rest.

He let out the breath he was holding when he turned the corner to the officers' corridor, currently otherwise unoccupied, and saw that the curtain at the end must have been drawn back, for lamplight from the room was spilling out onto the stones of the floor. There, Hilarion was clearly still awake, for a sleeping man would have shut the curtain and put out the lamp. There was nothing to worry about.

Walking closer, Alexios put his hand on the cold stone of the doorway, leaned around to peer in, and found that he had been entirely wrong on that last point.

Hilarion lay on the bed, on his back, sprawled across the narrow mattress, still dressed—mostly—in his leather tunic and breeches. His head was tipped back, and he would have been looking directly at Alexios had his eyes been open. He was as silent now as he had been noisy on the earlier nights; the only sounds were his breathing, and the softest whisper of flesh. The ties of his breeches were undone, and his hand— O gods, his hand was—

How could Hilarion be doing this? With the curtain drawn back, with the lamp still lit, anyone could see him, anyone could watch him.

Anyone could watch him as Alexios was watching.

Alexios shut his eyes and drew away, but he could not stop seeing it in his mind—Hilarion's fingers flashing over his cock, the way it had looked, the way his breath had hitched just so at a particularly sensitive spot. His own cock twitched in response, rubbing up against his breeches, and he was so hard he could barely focus on anything else. He was so close. Already, he was so close, as if he were the most inexperienced of youths; how did Hilarion do this to him? At least the cloak he was still wearing covered it. He had to get back to his quarters. He had to. He could not just stand here and embarrass himself.

He heard the faintest moan from inside the room—much easier to hear without the curtain between them—and he bit his lip, splaying his hand down across himself to keep from coming at that very moment.

After taking a few careful steps down the hall, each one an agony of arousal, he broke into a run where he thought Hilarion would not hear, Hilarion who with his freckled hands was even now—

He was not going to last until he reached his quarters. There was no possibility of that. The hallway was empty, he thought, dazed, as he shoved his hand into his breeches, roughly stroked himself once, twice, and came, shaking, trying to brace himself against the wall and instead sliding slowly to the floor.

What had he just done?

A transfer. A demotion. Anything. He could not be a man who acted like this.

* * *

The next morning, Hilarion was not there.

He was absent at breakfast. When Alexios stepped out onto the parade-ground for morning muster, only Lucius was there, trying to keep all one hundred sixty men in line by himself. It took them twice as long as usual to get the men settled, and it was even worse because Hilarion had, it seemed, already released his own optio for leave yesterday as they had agreed. It was, all in all, a mess, and that was not even counting the part where the scouts had the week's passwords wrong.

Where was Hilarion?

"I tried to wake him this morning, sir," said Lucius. "Wouldn't move. He said he was ill; I thought he would be round to see Anthonius."

Anthonius, when Alexios had made it to the infirmary, only stared. "Yes, I checked on him. Nothing wrong that I could see, but he said he had cleared the free day with you yesterday as a precaution. Then he fell asleep again."

Perhaps Hilarion truly was ill, in some way Anthonius had not found, but then why would he have lied to him about the leave? And if he was not ill, why would he have lied to Lucius? It was all very strange.

At any rate, Hilarion had upset the normal order of the day enough—and the night before, Alexios thought, ashamed of what he had done, and the nights before that, as he stamped off to his office and flung himself down in the nearest chair—that he was certainly not putting the rest of the day in disarray to check on him, especially as Hilarion had most definitely lied about the leave. Hilarion could wait until Alexios had the time, in the evening, and may Jupiter blind him for it if he was spending the day bringing himself off. 

Even through the annoyance and anger, a little frisson of lust rose in him, and Alexios sighed and put his head in his hands. He was ruined.

* * *

The corridor was well-lit by torches, as usual, but as Alexios approached, Hilarion's room was dark and silent, even though the curtain was drawn back as if he were awake in there. Perhaps this time he truly was ill. Where was he, though? Alexios squinted into the dimness, barely able to make out the furniture.

All at once a shape on the bed moved. Hilarion had been sitting there all along, in the darkness.

"Are you going to come in this time, Alexios?"

The question was quiet, with no hint of mockery in Hilarion's tone. And then the meaning dawned on him. _This time_. He knew. Hilarion knew what he had done. All of it.

"I'll leave," Alexios said, choking on the words, on the hideous shame of it. "I'll resign. I'll write to the praepositus tomorrow. I offer no excuses for my behavior, but I want you to know that I am terribly—"

Hilarion swore, and then he was on his feet, at the door, and his hand was around Alexios' wrist. His face in the torchlight was paler than Alexios had ever seen him. "Don't," he said, his voice strained. "Don't, please, don't leave. That wasn't what I wanted. Not ever."

"What _you_ wanted?" asked Alexios, stunned.

"Come in," said Hilarion, and it sounded like begging, pleading, a desperate appeal. "Please. I just— none of this is working any longer."

He stepped back into the room, toward the little desk in the corner. Alexios saw the spark of the flint, and then very quickly the oil lamp flared into life. In the flickering light, Hilarion's face looked even worse, awful and haunted, and Alexios pulled the curtain shut behind both of them, though he was only too aware of how much privacy it did not give them.

"They told me that after Abusina you offered to fall on your sword," said Hilarion, not looking up. Alexios' stomach twisted sickeningly at the thought that Hilarion had known all along of his incompetence and disgrace in Germania, that he knew everything about him now. "And I thought to myself, how could they give the Wolves a man with that much honor in him? No one would waste such a commander on us. I thought they were liars, the men telling these tales. We're all liars here. And then I met you." At this he lifted his head and smiled, a little twitch of his lips.

Alexios breathed raggedly, miserably, in and out again; the air felt like fire in his lungs. "I am the farthest thing from honorable."

"Why?" Hilarion reached out a hand, hesitantly, as if he wanted to offer comfort but was not sure how; after an instant he let his hand fall. Then he smiled again. It was a small thing, only a shadow of his usual grin, but it was a smile nonetheless. "You have done nothing unwelcome. You have done nothing that was against my will."

The words made no sense. "Hilarion," he said, tightly, "for the past week I have stood outside your door, listening while you—" his voice rasped— "enjoyed the pleasure of your own company." _And I liked it_.

Hilarion gave another little smile. "Don't you think I know that?"

Alexios gaped. "You can't have meant—" he began, and then stopped. "The first time, that was an accident, surely."

"A coincidence," said Hilarion. "But I knew there was someone there. I could hear footsteps and the jingling of weapons. And everyone else would have walked on, or told me to be quieter. You were the only person whose reactions I did not know. And you stayed."

"I ran," Alexios pointed out.

"You stayed long enough." Another smile, a careful one this time. "It came into my mind, then, that you might have enjoyed what you heard."

_I did_ , he wanted to say, but the words would not pass his lips.

"I thought, too," Hilarion said, tilting his head to the side, "that you might enjoy watching. Or more, though I did not dare hope for that." He chuckled. "You don't even want to know how much I had to promise Kaeso and Lucius that they would keep the bath-house empty—"

Something twisted in Alexios' gut at the laughter, and he remembered how he had felt in the bath-house, dying to touch Hilarion, victim to his own mindless needs. That, too, that had been planned? It had all been planned? "So it amused you, eh? You would have sought to drive me mad with lust, and then laugh at what you'd wrought?"

"No, no!" Hilarion flung out his hands but did not touch him, and his face was aghast. "I'm saying this all wrong. I— I wanted you first. Since I met you." His eyes were wide, and in them was the purest lust and longing. "But I could not ask, for you were good and honorable. Not for the likes of me. When this happened I thought perhaps it would be safer this way. I thought if I arranged it thus, you could approach me if you liked, and if not you could pretend that you did not notice."

"And then I ran away," said Alexios softly. At the baths, and again, later.

"I left the lamp burning for you last night." Hilarion's mouth quirked. "I thought, surely, surely you would do something this time, now that I could not be any more blatant. And you left, again. I thought then that somehow I must have been wrong all along, and you did not desire me. I'm afraid I did not take it well."

Now it was Alexios' turn to laugh. "Last night I did not even reach my room before I spent."

"Oh?" Hilarion's eyes were dark now, and his voice had the low growl in it that Alexios had come to recognize as arousal. He had heard it often enough this week, and it kindled in Alexios an answering need. "I would have liked to have seen that."

They could be together. They could. Alexios' heart soared, and then it fell. They couldn't.

"Hilarion," he said, with a frustrated sigh, "I am still your superior officer."

Hilarion waved the objection away. "I know that you would put duty before feelings, should that day come. As for the regulations, you forget that this is the Frontier Wolves."

"What of it?"

"We are already your punishment. There is very little you can do that would cause them to take you away from us." He grinned. "You would have to fuck me in front of the praepositus himself before anyone cared, and even then he might not be scandalized enough. I might have to fuck you."

Though there was humor in them, the last sentences were very carefully delivered, as if Hilarion was waiting for his reaction.

"Might you?" Alexios replied, in the same teasing voice, but he did not know if that was what Hilarion wanted to hear.

"We do not have to, of course," said Hilarion, quickly, and it was the lovesick pleading of a man who would take anything that was offered and be grateful. "Anything you want. Even if you are the sort of man who only likes to watch and not to touch, nor to do anything."

Alexios stepped closer. "I want to do—"

He did not even finish speaking before Hilarion was in his arms. And it was his Hilarion again, the laughing, smiling Hilarion, who bent his head to kiss him, and it was sweet, so achingly, wonderfully sweet. It was a tender thing, nothing like he might have expected from the man, and Alexios was full of joy.

"I think I may have ruined the mystery of the relationship," Hilarion whispered against his cheek, but then he pulled his head back so Alexios could see him; he was grinning as he said it.

He yanked at at Hilarion's tunic until he reached the hem of it, and then he dragged it up so that he could press his palms against Hilarion's back. He could touch him, he could finally touch him. "How so?"

"Well," said Hilarion, "you've already seen everything I have to offer, as it were. I imagine you could be less excited about this than you might otherwise have been." His breathing was already shallow, his eyes unfocused.

Alexios kissed him. "You may judge that for yourself."

After that he had his tunic off, and then Hilarion's tunic off, and Hilarion was laughing and leading him to the bed, kissing him and kissing him more. And then, once they were sitting, Alexios paused, for a thought had occurred to him.

"Too much already?" Hilarion asked, moving his hands away.

Alexios shook his head. "Certainly not. I was only wondering," he said, and he allowed himself a smile, "what you would have done, the other day, had I not left the bath-house in such a hurry."

"Ah." Hilarion breathed out, entranced. "I had a few ideas. I think, though, it might be easier to show you. To reenact the situation."

Alexios promptly undid his breeches and started to slide them off. "Like this?"

Hilarion stared, and as Alexios watched, licked his lips a little at the sight of him. "Like— mmm, like that. Looks a little different than it did yesterday."

"That would be the excitement," he said, and Hilarion started chuckling again. "Come on," Alexios added, "you too."

"If you insist." Hilarion rose and, facing away, removed the rest of his clothes; it was just as enticing a sight as it had been the day before, only better, because now he was permitted to look, and he drank it all in. Hilarion's skin was golden in the cast of the lamplight—but even so, he could still see every last freckle.

Alexios began to laugh, and he reached out a hand, though he was too far to touch him.

"You know," said Hilarion, turning around, "a man might not take it well if his new lover was laughing at him as he took his breeches off."

"Never that." Alexios forgot the rest of his sentence for an instant as Hilarion stood there, his cock rising, thick and dark with blood. "It. Mm. It was the freckles. I liked them. Thought they were charming."

That was when he discovered that Hilarion, being so pale, could blush all the way down to his chest.

"Oh, hush," Hilarion managed, his face still red. "We were talking about you."

Alexios smiled. "We were, weren't we? So what would you have done?"

"I would have offered you a massage in return, of course."

"A massage would be excellent," said Alexios, attempting to sound as innocent as possible. "I thank you for your kind offer."

Hilarion rubbed at his neck, his shoulders, just a little, and then he was pushing him, ever so gently, onto his back. There was somehow just enough room on the bed for both of them; Hilarion curled up next to him, their heads together, with his long legs all over Alexios'.

"And I would have done that for you," whispered Hilarion, one hand cupped around the base of Alexios' skull, still kneading the muscles there. "A proper massage, don't worry. And then I might have let my hands wander, and touched you here, or here." His hand drifted down, across Alexios' chest, then lower, to his stomach, where it rested flat.

Alexios resisted the impulse to push up, to twist his body, to force Hilarion's hand to move. "And then?" he asked, and his voice came out of him in a gasp.

"And then here," Hilarion said softly, taking Alexios in hand at the very moment when he kissed him.

Hilarion was _good_. Alexios let his mouth fall open for Hilarion's lips, Hilarion's tongue, moving on him, in him, in time with Hilarion's clever hand sliding on his cock. He groaned as Hilarion licked into his mouth and tightened his grip, and it was so good already. He wasn't going to last. He ought to at least hold out a little longer and not finish after half a dozen strokes as though it were his first time.

"Hilarion," he moaned, in between kisses. 

Hilarion lifted his head but did not stop stroking him. "Yes?"

"So good," he panted. "I'm sorry, I'm going to—"

"I was rather hoping you would." Hilarion bit the side of his throat. The pressure was wonderful, and Alexios moaned again. But he couldn't just come. Not yet.

"Then I'd, mmm, then I'd be done," gasped Alexios, feeling that Hilarion did not understand his objection. "And I've been— ah, I've been touching myself, looking, imagining it was you, and now that it is you—"

Hilarion kissed him again. "Alexios?"

"Mmm?"

"Look down."

So he looked down along the length of his body, and, ah, gods, that was Hilarion's hand moving on him, encircling his cock, and Hilarion himself pressed against him, hard and needy, rubbing up against his hip with every stroke—

He threw his head back and came, trembling, into Hilarion's hands.

"I hate you," he said, when he had gathered enough breath to speak, but Hilarion only laughed and kissed him once more.

"You don't." Hilarion grinned at him. "How can you hate me when you said you liked my freckles? It would be impossible."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Alexios ran a fingertip along Hilarion's collarbone and then up to his shoulder; the skin there was quite freckled indeed. It was oddly intriguing.

Hilarion shivered under his fingers. "You did." Another laugh. "And once you're complimenting my freckles, I'm afraid you're done for." It was not said with Hilarion's usual dry tone; had Alexios even robbed him of the cynicism? Perhaps for now.

"Would you like me to tell you about them?"

This made Hilarion flush red again; his gaze shifted away. "If you like."

"I thought about counting them," said Alexios, tracing two fingers down Hilarion's breastbone. "I sat there at breakfast and looked at you and thought about that. I'd of course have to put my hands on you—"

"I would not mind in the slightest," offered Hilarion, arching against him in a somewhat impatient manner.

"Or my mouth."

Hilarion drew a quick, sharp breath, and Alexios knew then that he had wanted it but would not have dared ask, or at least not first. Even in the Frontier Wolves, Alexios suspected, one did not simply ask one's commander to kneel. "If you're certain."

Alexios grinned at him. "Make yourself comfortable."

He stood up, stretched, and wiped himself off while he gave Hilarion room to move. When he turned back he saw that Hilarion, being Hilarion, had sprawled sideways all across the bed in a fashion that Alexios would not have thought anyone would have found relaxing, what with the way his head was tipped back against the wall and his legs splayed off the edge of the bed. Alexios smiled at the sight.

"I should warn you," Hilarion said, favoring Alexios with his own lazy smile in return, "I've been told I can be very... enthusiastic. Vocally so."

Alexios dropped to his knees between Hilarion's legs and ran a hand up the inside of his thigh. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

And then he leaned forward to take Hilarion in his mouth. After that there was very little he could say.

Hilarion, of course, did not stop talking. "Mmm, yes, Alexios," he gasped, as Alexios gave a tentative lick. "That's— that's perfect, exactly like that—"

He had not done this very often before, and though the men he had been with had certainly been appreciative of his efforts, there had always been corrections—they would tell him to move his head faster, or slower, or use his hand as well, or not use his hand, or put his tongue in some particular spot (and he had never quite figured out what that one had wanted). But Hilarion, it seemed, liked all of it, whatever he did. 

"Wonderful," Hilarion panted. "That's so." The rest of the sentence was lost in another moan as Alexios brought up a hand to help, and Hilarion jerked his hips forward hard, pushing into his mouth even deeper.

It was flattering, Alexios thought, and his cock twitched, trying to harden again, at the feel of Hilarion in his mouth, pleasantly heavy and thick, at the sounds Hilarion was making. Because of him.

Hilarion's hands slid through his hair, a little too short to find purchase, but Alexios whimpered at the touch, and Hilarion groaned again in response, loudly enough that the entire corridor could very likely hear them.

"Oh," Hilarion breathed. "Alexios, you're so good at that. Wanted you so much. Ah, yes, just like that." He groaned, and Alexios could feel a fine tremor run through Hilarion's limbs. "Better than I dreamed. Oh, your mouth, yes—"

He arched up, and everything he said then was half-words, _yes_ and _please_ and _yes_ again, and Alexios knew Hilarion was close now. Alexios shut his eyes and took him as deep as he could, all the way down, and Hilarion cried out and spent, holding him closer still, his hands on his head, and it was, as Hilarion had said, perfect.

The taste was not as bad as he remembered, and he had barely swallowed before Hilarion was pulling him up to the bed to kiss him over and over again. He expected Hilarion to make a face, to refuse to kiss him like most of the Romans had, but it seemed that Hilarion did not mind.

"Thank you," Hilarion said, in between kisses. "Thank you so much." All of the cutting humor was gone, all of the artifice, and it was only Hilarion in his arms. Alexios did not think many people saw this Hilarion. "I can't believe this is real."

Alexios smiled. "It's no dream. But perhaps you should sleep soon, eh?"

Hilarion squinted at him. His hair was a mess, his face was flushed, and his lips were bitten. He was beautiful. "Why?"

"I assume you'll need your sleep for whatever you promised Lucius and Kaeso."

Hilarion's moan was much less pleasant this time. "They'll have their gear in the best repair. Both of them. For two weeks." But his eyes were still bright. "I wish to say, in my defense, that it was entirely worth it."

"Somehow," said Alexios, running his fingers through Hilarion's pale hair, "I think that is always your defense."

Hilarion grinned and said nothing.

"You will also need your sleep for when you do running drills with both centuries tomorrow," continued Alexios, a little more sternly, "because you abandoned yours to me this morning."

Hilarion kept grinning. "Acknowledged, sir. But if I may make a request of the commander?"

"You may."

"I request that the commander fuck me sometime in the near future," said Hilarion, keeping his face perfectly straight, "to give me something pleasant to live for while I am leaping over a ditch in full armor."

"Agreed," said Alexios, as formally as he could. "But not over my desk in the sacellum. Or in the sacellum at all," he added, and Hilarion made a mock-sad face that was truly a sight to behold.

"How about your room, then?"

"Deviant," allowed Alexios, "but I think I could be persuaded to try it."

"There's no one else on your corridor." The grin was now a satisfied smirk. "I can make much more noise that way."

"More?"

"You have hardly heard anything from me," Hilarion said, smiling and kissing him and kissing him. Alexios, glad for once in his life that he had thought to walk the corridors of Castellum, kissed him back, and there was only happiness in his heart.


End file.
